


you do it to yourself

by armario



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Masochism, Mixed feelings, SPOILERS FOR S3!!!, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, uh... where to start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armario/pseuds/armario
Summary: If Jim had that courage, he might ask Mario if there was anything-  anything at all he was angry at Jim for, and suggest what he could do about it.





	you do it to yourself

It does come down to motive and capability. 

Mario isn't interested in his self destructive games. He keeps repeating it over and over in his head- _you do this with_ everyone, _just leave Mario and Lee out of it_.  _They deserve to be happy._

 _But,_  his brain returns viciously, - _you-_ _don't._

 Jim thinks Mario would agree on that count. He doesn't deserve Lee. He can't make her happy like Mario can (has), he'll only bring her down. He's stuck in self-pity all the time.

That doesn't mean for a second that the doctor would get involved in his sickness. That he would be low enough to pander to Jim's unwavering need to punish himself. 

 It's painful, living such a miserable existence, trying to avoid getting close to people because he'll poison them like he poisoned Lee. Harvey. Even Barbara. That was his fault. 

_He wonders if Mario is anything like him. If he calls Lee by the same names. If he wakes up first in the morning and watches her sleep. If he finishes first and gasps her name or if it's the other way round, or they are in perfect sync with each other. Or if Mario's cock is bigger, if he has scars in similar places. If Lee pulls his hair when they kiss. What Mario drinks. If he can cook. If he'd be willing to draw Jim's blood because he hates him that much-_

 He doesn't want the pitying looks Lee gave him when she tried to tell him she loved him, and he was a good person. He doesn't want Harvey to drink himself blind just to keep up with the brutal pace Jim sets (how many drinks will make him forget?). He doesn't want Mario to give him a second thought, because that's what he deserves. Disgust.

 Now he's away from Lee he can manage it a bit better, minimising the guilt, but having to sit still under Mario's care was difficult.

 When the doctor hissed, _stay still,_   _or I'll pull your stitches_ , Jim bit his lip to keep from returning,  _please do,_ and said he was sorry instead. Sorry for everything, and Mario's hands paused over his lines of scars. He wanted Mario to fuck up the stitches and nick him with the scalpel, but he wouldn't, because he was too  _good._

"You should look after yourself more," was the only quiet, expressionless comment the doctor made, and never referenced it ever again, making Jim ache.

He doesn't want people to show concern. _I'm fine,_  he says. _I really am_. _You shouldn't waste your time on_ \- and then cuts himself off because he sounds crazy, and no one quite comprehends that it's okay for him to hate himself.

 Jim sees something of Bruce in himself, the recklessness, the alarming lack of fear, but that is where the similarities end. Bruce wants justice, he doesn't care how people see him. Jim is desperate to prove he can do some good.

 It's not a big deal, he just wants to throw himself in the path of danger and save people that deserve saving, and hoard the memories of their gratitude and awe when he's alone and his mind is supplying him with the phrase, _no redeeming qualities_.

He is self-sacrificing. It is his best quality, and only quality.

*

A late night knock is never welcome. When he opens the door with his fingers curled tight round his gun, stands blinking at the most unlikely visitor, Mario gives him an unimpressed look.

"Let me in," he says, glances down at Jim's weapon and sets his jaw.

"What is it?" Jim asks. "Is Lee okay?"

"She's fine," Mario answers shortly, taking in the mess of the apartment, the open bottle on the table.  _Yes, I am a walking cliche, the tormented detective, self-medicating with the whiskey you see here._

"Then-"

"We both know she's a sucker for lost puppies," the Falcone heir states. "And I see what you're doing, and I think, oh fuck, if he carries on, she'll be back by his side trying to sew everything back up. I can't have it, James. I won't. She can't see you like this."

 "I don't know what you mean," Jim says honestly. Little has changed. He's mildly more suicidal since the love of his life broke up with him, but he's been worse. Maybe.

 What he means is, he's no more messed up than he's ever been. 

"Did you think I didn't notice?" Mario snaps.

"Notice what?"

Mario lets out a frustrated growl that makes Jim shudder. Disappointment in him. It's what he's wanted. The doctor steps scarily closer and tugs Jim's shirt down at the collar, exposing old scars and some fresher wounds.

"Work," Jim states in lieu of a real explanation.

Mario laughs in disbelief, steps back. It is a mean sound. "I'm warning you Jim. Make an effort to look like you aren't seconds away from throwing yourself off of Wayne Tower."

"I'm not," he replies, his voice coming out cracked. "I can't-"

"You're an adult, a police officer. You have to project hope to other people. Don't you see that? "

 "I have to help people Mario," Jim returns. His head is pounding and his skin is burning where Mario touched. He wishes he'd scratched a bit, pressed into a bruise or scabbing cut. "It doesn't matter the toll it takes on me." The next words are out before he can recall the promises he makes daily not to draw out pity or concern from others. "I deserve it."

 Mario stills, looks at him unreadably. Jim won't know if the caring doctor or possessive fiancé in his mind is winning.

"Forget I said that," he amends tiredly. "I'm sorry Mario, you're right. Lee shouldn't have to think about me any more. Nor should you," he tries so hard to hold it together and his voice rewards him with only the slightest waver.

 Mario inclines his head and turns to leave, taking his safety with him. On the threshold, door open letting in the pouring rain, he says, "You do good in this city. Do it to yourself."

 Jim doesn't get an ounce of sleep. He tells himself, _I will not call Harvey_ , _I will not come thinking of Lee_ , _or_ her fiancé, _and I will not drown myself in the bathtub_   _because that would be selfish_.

 Instead, he goes out for a walk and picks a fight with a man screaming at his girlfriend that she is a dirty whore and he will _kill her_  when she gets home- Jim lets himself get punched over and over again, hits back and gasps when his knuckles split, spits blood onto the rainy road and smiles bloodily back at the woman when she looks at him from her boyfriend's grasp. It isn't justice Jim is looking for, because there are a hundred men like that one in Gotham, and he can't dive in to rescue every battered wife, but he can get hurt if he needs. 

 Jim _can_  be normal most of the time. He can make jokes with Harvey, throw one liners at whatever goon is causing trouble this time, he can smile at Lee the way a colleague would and keep everything strictly professional. He can ruffle Bruce's hair and it doesn't always tear him up inside that someone so young thinks that _he_  is at all an appropriate role model.

 Sometimes it gets bad, and sometimes it gets worse. When it is worse, he makes sure to go in alone with no back up and there's always that burning mix of disappointment and relief when Harvey says, "you could've gotten yourself _killed_ -"

_But I didn't. I didn't. I'm still_  fucking _here._

 It's worse when Lee watches him from across the precinct, takes in his cut face and difficulty walking, came to check up on him quietly like she should still actually care.

 "Go away." Jim wants to snarl. "Just leave me alone and don't cry at my funeral," but he also wants to say, "come back, I know you still care, I love you and I always will."

It's not great.

When he saves Mario, he gets something of gratitude in return.

 Mario hadn't protested at Jim's grip on his arm, and when he said, "Jim, you're holding on still," he hadn't been mocking, and only smirked a Falcone smirk in response to Jim's mortified apology.

The second time, in the Jeweller's, unhealthily proud that he knew where Mario would be, Jim has to say, "You're putting yourself in danger" but he can't fault the logic in, "we'll always be in danger now, so I'm making the most of this time." 

 If only he could apply it to his own situation.

 If Jim had that courage, he might ask Mario if there was anything-   _anything at all_ he was angry at Jim for, and suggest what he could do about it. 

 But he doesn't have the courage. 

 And Mario says, "Are you still-?"

Jim closes his eyes. "Yes," he replies. He doesn't look when Mario takes his hand, silently making the admission that Lee is no longer the sole reason for his fascination for this man. 

"I'm telling you now, you don't have to."

 Later he will realise that's because Mario will do it instead, but if one took the Tetch virus out of the equation, it was somewhat touching. It showed Mario understood. It was a permission thing, and only two people could tell him he didn't have to keep hurting himself. The one he loved, and the one she loved.

 Jim opens his eyes. "Come back to the station," he says, and he's a detective again. "It wouldn't do for you to be assassinated only hours before your wedding night."

 Mario smiles. It is a nice smile, Jim acknowledges. It's as far as his acknowledgement of Mario's better features can go without approaching dangerous territory.

 That is the last time it will be directed at him.

 Jim almost wanted to turn the gun round and pull the trigger on himself, because that would be easier.

 Now Lee hates him, and Mario is dead.

 *


End file.
